


The Love that Haunts Us

by SanityisOverrated



Series: 30 Day Prompt Challenge [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 30 Day Prompt Challenge, Angst, Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Johnlooooooock, M/M, Out of Order, WTF, two words become 3k, who cares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 13:02:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanityisOverrated/pseuds/SanityisOverrated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In retrospect, John would be able to laugh at how it changed their lives. He had told Sherlock that he would say ‘Please God, let me live.’ with his last breath, but when it actually came down to it... his only thought was for Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Love that Haunts Us

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize. This is unedited, unbritpicked(if anyone wants to offer suggestions, I'm open!) and it's my first time writing Johnlock. My mind just took off with the prompt I got, so hopefully you like it XD Dedicated to one of my best friends, [Low_Key_Loki](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Low_Key_Loki). Ich liebe dich!

In retrospect, John would be able to laugh at how it changed their lives. He had told Sherlock that he would say ‘Please God, let me live.’ with his last breath, but when it actually came down to it... his only thought was for Sherlock.

  
_Hours earlier..._  


“Tell Lestrade that the suspect is a painter, male, he’s very ordinary, it’s how he gets into his victims houses. They never see it coming. Short, like you, so they misjudge how much of a threat he is.”  


John glowered at Sherlocks back, writing it down. Really, the man was so infuriating sometimes, he didn’t know how he put up with him.  


“What about accomplices?” He gritted out.  


“No, he works alone. He’s solitary, likes to savor it afterwards. He wouldn’t let anyone else into that.”  


John sighed, and then went to grab his phone so he could text Lestrade the details. He glanced up when Sherlock grabbed his coat and scarf.  


“Where are you off to now?” He said irritably.  


“Results from the dirt I sent in for analysis are back. I might be able to find out where he lives from that. Coming?”  


John heaved a sigh, but nonetheless, went to grab his coat. He always worried when Sherlock was chasing a suspect. It left him emotionally drained, to suppress it all, but he knew Sherlock would only get annoyed if he displayed any concern for his wellbeing.  


“Right. Where are we off to first?”  


And with that, the day flew by. John’s head spun with the whirlwind that was Sherlock. They had barely been at one place for five minutes before Sherlock was whirling around in that grand fashion of his and running off without even letting John know their next location. He was constantly muttering to himself, and as the time for dinner came around, John felt his body betray him.  


“Sherlock, I’ve got to stop and eat something.”  


Sherlock looked back at him inquisitorially. “Whatever for?”  


“Because I’m not like you, dammit! I can’t run after you all day and have energy to spare!” John burst out.  


Sherlock blinked at him owlishly. “Alright. Let me just check this lead out and we can stop for something on the way back.”  


John relaxed, pacified. “Ok. Good. Thank you.”  


He wasn’t to know that the lead would be where the suspect was hiding out, or that they would be chasing him through the streets of London half the night. It finally ended in a stand off, the suspect cornered against a dead end, John and Sherlock facing him in the alleyway. Walls surrounded them on all sides, and John was uneasy.  


“Sherlock, be careful!” he hissed. Sherlock growled at him, and he huffed.  


“There’s no way out, you know.” Sherlock drawled. John shivered, for an entirely different reason than the current temperature. Sherlock’s voice always did things to him.  


“You’re a smart one, knowing I was the one who did all this.” The man snarled at him.  


“Of course I knew. It was simple once I found your last one. You made a mistake.” Sherlock said with a slightly smirk. John rolled his eyes. Really, his arrogance was unbelievable sometimes.  


The man narrowed his eyes. “You're just trying to get a rise out of me.”  


“I’m not. You made a mistake, and it was all I needed to lead me here. You’re going away for this.” Sherlock said confidently.  


“Yeah? Well, bet you didn’t expect this!” The man snapped back before pulling out a gun. John tensed, pushing forward and protecting Sherlock with his body, even as he drew his gun and kept the man at bay with it.  


“Stay back. I know how to use mine better than you know how to use yours.” He threatened. He heard Sherlock huff a laugh behind him. The suspect waved his gun wildly.  


“Don't come any closer! I won’t hesitate to use it!” He yelled in a panic. Sherlock growled from behind John, and pushed forward.  


“Stop this foolishness! If you think you can kill either of us and get away with it, you won’t, I can assure you that. And you’ll just have one more death on your head. Judges don’t think too highly of murder charges.”  


John saw the next few seconds in slow motion. The man snarled and took aim. John pushed Sherlock and himself down, even as he took aim with his own gun, and fired at the same time as the suspect did.  


The suspect took off, and Sherlock immediately scrambled up after him. John took a couple more seconds to come to his senses after knocking his head against the ground, before he shook himself and made an attempt to get up. A burning in his side made him pause and he put a hand to it, and was only mildly shocked to see it come away red with blood.  


“Well, this complicates things.” He sighed. He scooted so he could lean against the wall and grunted each time he jolted the wound. He unbuttoned his coat and took it off gingerly, and then lifted up his jumper to get a look at it. It wasn’t altogether a bad wound, clean through, but he was losing blood fast. He pushed his jacket against it, and clenched his teeth against the pain.  


Sherlock was long gone, caught up in chasing the suspect. It was always about the chase with him. John had always know that nothing would come before the work, but at the moment, it was a painful and hard truth to confront. Sherlock had abandoned him without a thought as to why he wasn’t following. John closed his eyes as the pain became worse, and felt himself drift.  
  
“John?”  


Surely he must be dreaming. Sherlock wouldn’t have come back for him. Would he?  


“John!” There was a presence by his side, hands on his face, patting, then lightly smacking his cheeks.  


“John, you’ve got to wake up. Wake up, dammit!”  


“Sh’l’ck,” John mumbled. A part of his brain took notice of the fact that he was sluggish, feeling cold and disoriented. Signs of blood loss. Judging by the way his jacket was soaked, he hadn’t just closed his eyes for a moment like he thought he had.  


“John, what’s wrong?” Sherlock asked him. John realized that, in the darkness, Sherlock couldn’t see the blood that stained his jacket, or really deduce what was wrong with him.

He drew in a breath to tell him everything was fine, he might need an ambulance though, when he choked and coughed up blood.  


Sherlock stared at it in horror. “John, you’re coughing up blood.” He said calmly. His hands were lifting away the jacket and finding the blood stained jumper underneath in the next second. Even in the bad lighting, the jumper, which was tan, made the blood stand out enough that Sherlock could tell what was wrong.  


“John...” he breathed. John blinked owlishly. It was getting harder and harder to stay conscious, and if he was going to die like this, then he had one last thing to say. Sherlock had his phone out now, and was gripping his hand, taking his pulse.  


“John, don’t be an idiot, you have to stay awake.” Sherlock snapped at him. His expression tightened when he felt the high, fluttery motions of Johns heartbeat.  


“Lestrade, I need you to come now. There’s been an incident, John’s injured. I need an ambulance here immediately. We’re at the corner of Station Road, down the alley way. Yes, I know, just hurry!”  


He snapped the phone closed, and turned his attention back to John. How many times had John longed to have the full intensity of that gaze on him? Now that it was, full of worry and an edge of panic that Sherlock would never acknowledge, he only felt grief and sorrow that they would never know what could’ve been.  


“Sherlock.” He rasped. The walls were twisting around him, and his head felt funny.  


“Hold on John. The ambulance is on its way.” Sherlock gritted, lifting up his shirt with one hand to examine the entrance wound. He muttered deductions about it having been a ricochet after looking at the angle of entry and where the gunman had been standing. John paid no attention to that, drifting on a pleasant haze as he was. He felt the darkness drawing closer and struggling to stay conscious long enough to tell Sherlock what he’d been wanting to say.  


“Sherlock!” He managed to grunt out with enough urgency that the pig headed man finally looked at him.  


“What?”  


“I need you to listen to me, dammit.” John growled.  


“I’m listening.” Sherlock said, softer after seeing the look on John’s face.  


“If I die, I would never forgive myself if I didn’t tell you something that’s needed to be said for far too long.”  


“John, no, you’re not going to die!” Sherlock hissed, pressing the coat back on the wound to try and staunch the blood.  


“I said if, you daft git. Listen closer!”  


Sherlock huffed. “Fine. What is it?” ** **  
****

“I love you. I know you don’t have room for that kind of sentiment, but you bloody bastard, you made life worth living again.”

John laughed, and coughed up more blood before starting to slide sideways down the wall. Sherlock caught him and gently ensured that he wouldn’t slide again.

“Thanks, Sh’lck.” John mumbled. They both heard the distant sounds of an ambulance wail down a street near them.

“Hang on, John.” Sherlock said urgently as Johns eyelids began to close. “John. John!”

John’s eyes were closed, and not opening. Before Sherlock knew it, the ambulance was there and they were working frantically over him. It was only when they started to move towards the vehicle with John on a stretcher that Sherlock realized he hadn’t once let go of John’s hand since he had grasped it to take his pulse.

“Sir, we need to get him to the hospital, he’s lost a lot of blood.”

“I’m family!” He said desperately. His eyes were trained on Johns too pale face, his hand still clinging to Johns.

The medics looked at him and then at each other. They were familiar with Sherlock, and knew it wasn’t true, but the desperation in his voice wasn’t something they had ever heard. They silently nodded to each other.

“Alright, but you’re going to have to let go so we can load him up.” one of them said calmly. Sherlock's face twisted, but he complied.

“Sherlock!”

It was Lestrade. “What happened here?” He demanded, seeing them wheel John into the ambulance.

“The suspect, he had a gun.” Sherlock said numbly. Lestrade looked at him wide-eyed. “Where is he now?”

“John pushed me to the side and shot at the same time. The suspect wasn’t hit, he took off running. I took off after him, didn’t realize John wasn’t behind me.” Sherlock continued, as if he hadn’t heard Lestrade.

“Sherlock! Where is the suspect?”

Sherlock looked at Lestrade, and the Inspector winced at the look on his face.

“He’s on the corner of Victoria St. and Manchester Road.” Sherlock growled. “I tackled him, left him tied up and came back to find John.”

Lestrade sighed and rubbed his face wearily. “Right. Well, off you go, they’re not going to wait for you.” He said, motioning towards the ambulance where they were getting ready to leave. Sherlock nodded abruptly and strode to the ambulance, ducking inside and sitting beside John, taking his hand once more. Lestrade gazed after the ambulance as it took off, the image burned into his minds eye.

“One can only hope he comes to his senses soon,” he murmured to himself.

“Who’s that, sir?” Sally asked, appearing at his side.

“Just our oblivious consulting detective, Sally. Now! We have a suspect to apprehend. Come with me.”

****\--** **

At the hospital, no matter how much of a ruckus Sherlock made, they wouldn’t allow him to see John after they wheeled him in to prep him for surgery. Sherlock paced the waiting room they had shooed him into, muttering to himself until Lestrade made an appearance.

“How’s he doing?” He asked quietly. Sherlock whirled on him, eyes burning.

“They won’t let me see him, Lestrade! They haven’t been by once to tell me anything, I do not know how he’s doing!”

Lestrade raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “Sherlock, you’re not doing yourself any good by working yourself up like this. I’m sure John is doing just fine. Sit down and wait like everyone else.”

Sherlock absolutely growled at that. “I will not _wait_ like _‘everyone else’_ , damn it!”

Lestrade just sighed. It was going to be a long night. John would know what to do, but he was the reason they were in here, which was probably the point. Sherlock had come so far with John at his side that the Sherlock Lestrade used to know and the Sherlock now were two different people in his mind. It hadn’t really been a surprise to him when he noticed the way John looked at Sherlock. Or, a few weeks later, how Sherlock looked at John.

When John wasn’t looking, Sherlock would look at him, and his gaze would get soft. Lestrade had felt embarrassed when he noticed it, as if he were looking in on a private moment only meant for the two of them. When there was no progression of their relationship, he had shaken his head and laughed as he watched them one time.

“What are you smiling about?” Sherlock asked irritably.

“Hm? Oh, sorry, nothing.” Lestrade said quickly. Sherlock stared at him and Lestrade looked around desperately for a distraction.

“Look, there’s the doctor now, perhaps they’ll have news about John.”

Sherlock whirled around, and strode up to the woman in scrubs who was approaching them with a weary face. He loomed over her, but she refused to be cowed.

“Family of John Watson?” She asked with a lift of her chin. Lestrade grinned.

“Yes, yes, that’s us, what news is there of John?” Sherlock snapped.

The surgeon matched his eye for eye with a hard glint in hers until Sherlock backed down. Lestrade could swear he was in shock, and felt like giving a standing ovation to someone having the nerve to stand up to him. Perhaps it was being a doctor. The woman deserved an award.

“John will be fine. He’ll need to stay in here for a couple days, but he should make a full recovery.”

“When can I see him?” Sherlock pushed.

“You can see him right now, but only for five minutes.” Sherlock’s expression grew mutinous, and the surgeon gave him another look. Sherlock finally nodded shortly, and then turned to Lestrade.

“Go on, go on, I’ll see him later. Tell him I said hello, and to get better soon.” ‘The sooner, the better,’ Lestrade thought fervently as he watched Sherlock head after the surgeon. ‘I hope the daft git doesn’t let John get away after this. They need each other.’

****\--** **

John was floating so very pleasantly. It was nice, this dream. Or perhaps it wasn’t a dream. He looked around, but everywhere there was light and a soft feeling. He shook his head. Had he died? He felt bad about leaving Sherlock like that. But then he heard a noise. It was.. a beeping? He walked towards the source, and found a door.

He opened it cautiously, and walked through it.

“John?”

That was Sherlock’s voice. So he hadn’t died. He opened his eyes, and found Sherlock hovering over him anxiously.

“You’re awake.” Sherlock said with a sigh of relief. “Thank god.”

“How long..?” John croaked.

Sherlock got up and poured him a cup of water. All John could do was stare at him in amazement until Sherlock motioned impatiently for him to take it.

“You were out for about a day and a half.” John nodded, and drank a sip or two of the water before he handed the cup back to Sherlock.

His mind trailed back to what he had said before and he turned his head away as he blushed.

“John?” Sherlock questioned, seeing his face flush before he turned his head away.

“Sherlock, I’m sorry about what I said.. I... you can just delete it.” John finished softly.

Sherlock stared at him, before he realized what his friend was getting at.

“John, no.” He breathed, staring at him. “Not unless you want me to.”

“It won’t affect how I treat you, I swear.” John mumbled, still not looking at Sherlock.

“I had rather kind of hoped it would, if I was going to change how I treat you because of it.” Sherlock retorted.

“What?” John asked, his head turning.

“You daft man.” Sherlock said with a smile before leaning over and hesitantly brushing a kiss against Johns lips. John just stared at him in shock, but Sherlock heard his heart monitor start beeping quicker.

“John?” He asked anxiously. He was frozen in shock on the bed, just staring at Sherlock. “John, if you don’t want this, that’s alright as well. We can go back to what we were.” Sherlock said desperately.

“I... just never thought you noticed.” John finally mumbled, colour still high on his cheeks.

“Oh John.” Sherlock sighed. “I would be nothing without my blogger.”

John chuckled, then winced. Sherlock looked at him sharply, and noticed the lines of pain drawn in his face.

“We can talk of this later, you need more pain medication.” He said firmly. John protested, but in the end Sherlock got his way, as always. He fell back asleep under Sherlock’s watchful gaze.

\--

When Mycroft visited later, the sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks. He smiled, and turned to leave, but someone else was there, peering over his shoulder.

“Finally settled it, did they?”

“One can only hope so, Detective Inspector.” Mycroft said smoothly. Lestrade grinned at him. “I’ve been waiting for it to happen for ages. If it hasn’t, I’m bound to do something rash soon.”

Mycroft smirked. “Fancy something to eat?”

“As long as it’s not cafeteria food, god yes.” Lestrade answered fervently. Mycroft nodded, and they walked down the hall together, discussing when the other had noticed the development that had befallen their favorite consulting detective and his blogger.

Sherlock and John slept on, a hand tightly clasped in the others over the bed rails.

 --


End file.
